It doesn’t take much of a ritual;

but you do need a definite ending:

a monogrammed handkerchief bound to a bough

of the gingko tree you started from seed,

for example. A four-leafed clover dropped

into the brook where you used to go fish.

A coffee mug, a wine glass, or perhaps

a porcelain vase smashed against a stone

on the edge of the forest. You’ve made all

the usual gestures of course:  the clothes

and books tossed, letters burned. But still, you need

one more small and private thing to seal that

door. (The German Requiem played loud,

and all alone, you cry and sing.)

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